by Eli Nixon
Chapter 15
THE ONLY time I can remember praying was in the hospital six years ago, but now I paused before falling asleep to thank God for putting me in a bumfuck town like Joshuah Hill. I couldn't bring myself to imagine what was happening in the rest of the world, where people were packed in more densely. In the dark bedroom, under the itchy, unfamiliar quilt, enveloped in the heavy silence you only get miles away from civilization, it was hard to imagine anyone else still alive on the planet. There was too much horror even in our little scab of a town; what was it like in New York City, or LA, or London or Paris or Beijing?
So I thanked God that I lived in Joshuah Hill, but I wasn't naive enough to thank Him for making me a junkie. He didn't have shit to do with that. It had been my own choice. My own conscious choice, just like it had been my mom's. There was no divine intervention in that, no heavenly hand guiding us to destruction. We chose our own paths to hell, and each and every one led there as sure as the tides will rise and fall.
I dreamed that it was raining bodies, and when I woke up, the sun was glaring hot and bright through the bedroom window and building vivid shadows in the corners. The strange room disoriented me for a moment, but then the previous day stitched itself back together in my mind and I shot out of bed, inducing a streak of pain in my shoulder. I grit my teeth and ignored it. What time was it? I used my left hand to awkwardly dig my phone out of my right pocket. 10 AM. Shit. I didn't like the way the shadows looked. They were too hard, almost sinister.
I was almost sober.
Jennie reached the living room at the same time as me, each of us with the same thought. We looked at each other and wordlessly dug into my backpack. As panicked as I was, though, I only swallowed one Vicodin. It was time to start thinking forward, and I wanted my head as clear as it could be.
"You feeling okay?" I asked Jennie after she'd managed to gag down a Percocet. I opened a can of Coke from the duffel in the corner of the room and handed it to her. She took a long draft and nodded, wiping her lips with the back of her hand. She'd apparently found some clothes that fit, because she was wearing a pair of running shorts and a tight t-shirt that framed her body like a second skin. Hadn't found a bra, it seemed.
She caught me looking and gave me that same half-smile she'd given me in the pharmacy. Embarrassed, I quickly turned my head to Mr. Dinkins, still asleep on the couch. There was no sign of Rivet.
"He was up most of the night," Jennie said, as if reading my thoughts. "He'll probably be out a few more hours. It was the damn Adderall." I didn't ask how she knew he'd been up so late. I didn't want to know.
"He's not...he's still alive, right?" Jennie asked, stepping up beside me to watch Mr. Dinkins sleep. Her arm brushed mine, and I unconsciously leaned away. Jennie was about five inches shorter than me, and I could smell shampoo in her hair. Lavender. She must have bathed with some of the water bottles from the pantry. I tried not to picture it.
"Yeah, he's alive. See his chest moving?"
"What the hell did you give him?" Jennie asked. "Strong shit." Was it my imagination, or did she purposely move closer so our arms touched again?
The air felt too thick. I cleared my throat and said, "Triazolam. Way too much of it, but he's not in any danger anymore."
"What you did for him," Jennie said softly. "It was good of you not to leave him. Most people wouldn't have done a stranger like that."
"I couldn't have done it without your help," I said. I looked down at her and she was already looking up at me. Our faces were almost touching. Her eyes were wide, alive, staring into mine. What was she thinking? Shit, what was I thinking? We stayed like that for a breathless moment, the warm living room frozen in time, and Jennie asked, "If the time came, would you do me like that?"
I broke and looked away, feeling my neck flush. "Of course," I muttered. "I would never leave you." My hands couldn't find a place to rest, kept brushing my jeans, picking at my shirt. This was too much. I left Jennie in the living room and went into the adjacent kitchen. Out of sight, I leaned my forehead against the cool wall and took a deep, calming breath.
Fuck.
Jennie and I had dated once in high school. The relationship had lasted about a month, up until I kissed her the first time. Looking back, I think it was more of a comfort thing than anything else. We'd always been friends, so when we got to that age where our bodies were changing and the opposite sex held more appeal than it had before, we gravitated to each other naturally. She'd lived down the street from me since, well, since we were both born, I guess. I can't really remember when she wasn't around. But after that kiss—we never went further than that—things got awkward. She broke it off with me and I got a little bitter, but a few months later we were friends again, like we always had been.
Whatever she was doing now, if it wasn't all in my head, was reaching out for that same comfort, nothing else. Her and Rivet got along fine when they got along, and I supported them. I wasn't jealous. They were my two best friends, had been forever. Nothing else I could say about it. Sometimes life gels in the strangest ways, and as long as you keep rolling with it, it won't hold you down when it finally settles.
"Better get in here, Ray," Jennie called from the living room. I took my time, and when I got there I saw Mr. Dinkins sitting up and rubbing his head. I offered him a Vicodin and said, "If you'd rather go back to your usual, we probably have that here, too."
Dinkins looked up at me like I was a ghost, then like I was crazy, then like I might attack him, all in about two seconds, then sighed and took the little white oval out of my palm. He stared at it, his face wearier than Methuselah's.
"It's for the..." Dinkins waved his hand toward the window, the outside world, the freaks somewhere beyond the glass. "...isn't it? Keeps it out. This doesn't work the same as that movie."
I nodded. "Don't ask me how, but this does the trick. Coke?" I popped a warm can from the duffel and handed it to him.
"Vitala..." Dinkins murmured, then dropped the Vicodin onto his tongue and tipped back the Coke.
I felt Jennie tense at the word. "Do you know what that is?" she asked.
Dinkins rubbed the corner of his eye, wiping away the last vestiges of sleep, then favored Jennie with a kind smile. "Funny thing to hear coming from your own brain, that's all," he said. "Where's your asshole friend?"
"Rivet's sleeping," said Jennie. "I'm Jennifer Hartford," she added, holding out her hand. Dinkins shook it without standing and asked, "Related to Jack Hartford?"
"Yeah! He's my grandfather. Shit. Was my grandfather."
"Heard he passed," Dinkins said. "I know it's a few years too late, but I'm sorry for your loss."
"Did you know him?" Jennie asked.
"We did business a few times," Dinkins said vaguely. "Good friend of mine, once upon a time. You got his stubborn streak in you, I can tell already. And his mouth."
Jennie blushed, and Dinkins turned to me. "Suppose I oughta thank you for what you did back there," he said.
"Anyone would have done it," I deferred, looking away.
"Wish that were true, sonny. I really do. But the fact is, it's a lie, and you know it as well as I do. This world moves too fast for an old-time sack of bones like me, and most would have left me to die. Or killed me outright, seeing as I was squatting in your gold mine. Sky starts raining shit like this, you see who really has the balls to keep swinging. You got 'em, kid. Thank you."
"It was nothing." I tried to change the subject. "So what do we do now?"
"I could fit a kickin' hog in my belly, for one thing," Dinkins said, rubbing his stomach. "You punks grab any grub, or were my narcotics too heavy?"
"Hope you like canned," Jennie said.
Rivet joined us halfway through a cold breakfast of sweet corn and peaches, eyes bloodshot as hell and still woozy from the last oxy he'd palmed before passing out. He eyed Dinkins with obvious distrust before clumping into an empty chair at the kitchen table. Titan, nose-deep in a bowl of kibble on the table, turned to him sharply
.
"Clean that bowl, old man. You're out of here before noon."
"Rivet!" Jennie admonished. "Be nice to our guest."
"Rayman might have a 14-karat heart, but we're on survival rations around here and we don't have enough to feed an extra mouth. Especially one that might keel at any moment." He stared at Dinkins coldly.
"Jesus, Rivet," I said. "What the fuck did you sleep on? A mattress made of dicks? Calm the fuck down and eat something. Dinkins is with us now."
"No, no. That's okay. I wasn't planning on staying anyway," Dinkins said, eyes on Rivet. "I've got to get over to my son's to see how he's doing. Besides, I got allergies."
"Allergies?" Jennie looked confused.
"Yeah," said the old man, still watching Rivet. "I'm allergic to cocksuckers."
Rivet erupted and lunged across the table, upending a bowl of creamy corn and sending Titan wheeling out of the room. "The fuck you say to me?" he shouted. I leaped up and grabbed Rivet by the shoulders and hauled him off the table before he could hit Dinkins. Dinkins didn't flinch a muscle. "Big words from the king of cock himself," Rivet yelled. "Go on and get out. We don't want you here." He grabbed a can of peaches and stomped out of the room.
"Mr. Dinkins," Jennie ignored Rivet. "It's not safe to go out by yourself. Rivet had a long day yesterday. We all did. He'll come around. Stay here with us for awhile."
Dinkins smiled at her. "I got a grandbaby needs checking up on. She'll be missing her pappy if I don't stop in."
"Mr. Dinkins..." I began. I didn't know what to say. "Stay until afternoon, at least. Think about it a bit. They might not be..." Again, my mind came up blank.
"Might not be human?" Dinkins finished for me. "Don't need to go soft around me, son. I'm tougher than most. I know the chance of them being fine aren't much. But if I don't check, well, what kind of pappy does that make me? It's decided. Besides, the only other option is sitting around getting high with a group of douchebags," he finished, still smiling. I found myself liking the old guy more and more.
"Bullshit," said Jennie. "You're not going. That's decided."
"Pack up any supplies you need." I understood that Mr. Dinkins wouldn't change his mind, and worse, I understood why. "Go find them. Your car's out back. We sort of stole it to get you back here, so, uh, sorry I guess." Dinkins chuckled. Jennie glared at me. "But listen," I continued. "You get there and don't find what you're looking for, come back here. We'll wait for you here for a couple days. If you do find it, bring them with you. There's safety in numbers, Mr. Dinkins. Either way, we'll expect you back."
Dinkins chuckled again. "Wish my son had turned out like you, Raymond. You got a better heart than most. Call me Torrance." He held out his hand. I shook it. His grip was surprisingly firm.
"We shouldn't let him go, Ray." Jennie said.
"We can't stop him," I replied. "Come on, Mr...Torrance. I'll help you get packed up."
I gave him my backpack from Janet Wazowski's house. He refused to take any food, but relented to two bottles of water and a dozen Percocets. Rivet was somewhere else in the house, so Jennie and I were able to bid Dinkins goodbye at the back door in the kitchen without much ado. He grabbed the bayonet rifle, too, and when Jennie explained that it was out of ammo, he said, "Always did like the wetwork better," and slapped Jennie lightly on the ass. Jennie looked like she might try to strangle him, but I corralled Dinkins quickly out the door.
"Remember what I said about the oxycodone," I said as we walked to his car. "Every four hours, and better take two at once if you're going to sleep. Don't fuck that up. That's only enough for two days. You sure you don't want to take more with you? After all, it's yours."
"Two days is aplenty, Raymond," Dinkins said, turning to me as we reached to dusty old Impala parked in the middle of the yard. "I'll be back, you can count on that. You never did tell me how you know what you do about medicine. That's a story I aim to hear." He tossed the backpack and the rifle into passenger seat and climbed inside. He rolled down the window and brushed a shock of gray hair off his forehead. "You told me to think about this earlier, and I'm going to say the same thing to you now. Think about this, son. Start thinking for the future. You can't steal drugs from old men forever."
Without another word, Torrance Dinkins drove off, leaving a plume of dust across the dry lawn.
I thought he might just be the last human I ever saw alive. I couldn't have been more wrong.
The end of the world had just begun.
Heartland Junk Part I: The End
Thank you for joining me on this journey.
THE DREAMS OF FEAR SERIES CONTINUES
in Heartland Junk Part II:
SANCTUARY
